


Full Moon Fucktoy

by shadowsapiens



Series: The Werewolf's Captive Catboy [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Bondage, Cock Warming, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, More Knotting, Outdoor Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Slave, Size Difference, Somnophilia, Werewolf, Woken up by sex, catboy, fuck toy, pseudo-bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-18 21:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: “Remember, don’t tug on this,” Ned says, locking the iron cuff around Sasha’s slim ankle. “It’s not coming off, so you can either keep it on with the bruises, or keep it on without them.”





	Full Moon Fucktoy

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [shadowsapiens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

The cold wind whistles through the night, but Ned Coldriver’s cabin is cozy and warm. Fire crackles merrily in the hearth, illuminating the war axe hung over the mantle, the plush purple direbear-skin rug, and the bruised, exhausted catboy slumped on the floor.

“Remember, don’t tug on this,” Ned says, locking the iron cuff around Sasha’s slim ankle. “It’s not coming off, so you can either keep it on with the bruises, or keep it on without them.”

Sasha stays tense, like he thinks Ned’s going for another round before bed. But Ned just tugs the chain, making sure he’s well-secured to the floorboards.

And okay, fine, then he reaches out and cups Sasha’s chin in his hand. He caresses the delicate bone under his palm, and rubs his thumb over Sasha’s lower lip to draw out the sweetest little gasp. The catboy’s skin feels so soft and fragile under Ned’s battle-callused touch. Everything about him is fragile, from the lines of his bones to his big blue eyes widened in fear. His ears press meekly back against his soft white hair, and his fluffy tail twitches against the dark fur rug.

So fragile, so pretty, so helpless. He’s like a little doll, perfectly made for Ned to toss around. He wouldn’t be able to stop Ned from flipping him over and taking him for the third time that day.

No, wait. Fourth. Ned nearly forgot about the time bent over the kitchen counter. Grinning, Ned tightens his grip. “What do you say, pretty? You up for round four?”

Sasha’s eyes dart from side to side, as if some weapon or escape route will appear out of nowhere. He says, “I’m tired. Please let me sleep.”

As tempting as another fuck is, Ned’s tired too. He could use a few candlemarks’ shut-eye. So, he just ruffles Sasha’s hair, heedless of the delicate ears flinching away from his touch. “All right, all right. Sleep well, kitten,” he says, and heads off to bed.

They’ll have plenty of fun when the full moon rises.

****

Ned is deep in dark, formless dreams when the moon calls his soul. He stirs. Rises. Only begins to fully wake as he pads across the floor. The dreams dissolve in silver light. He barely sees the flickering fire, the shadows in the rafters, his captive catboy chained on the rug. All he sees, all he knows, is the moonlight singing through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The door latch jams under his clumsy hand. With a careless push, he breaks it. The door swings open and Ned staggers naked into the frosty night. Wild instinct surges hot through his blood. He stares up as streaming clouds part from the silver-coin moon.

Under the full moon, the change needs no effort. No concentration. He simply gives in. He exhales, and his body answers. He shifts up and out, a visceral convulsion. Jaw jutting, fur spreading, limbs stretching, claws growing. Blood singing.

Ned throws back his head and howls.

His voice echoes through the night, and he falls to his hands and haunches as a massive, grotesque hybrid. He shudders with satisfaction, settling into the form. It’s in this shape that he feels most truly himself, without law or custom or reason blunting his fangs. He lives purely in the moment.

Some of his kind transform into full wolves, but he’s never been that civilized. He never liked bowing to a pack. He’s neither wolf nor human; he’s a monster.

And he’s hungry.

His jaws hang open, taking in the night air. The world explodes in his senses, his nose and ears open to _everything_. He smells distant smoke—the town of Dharovan to the south—and the faintest hint of the iron-earth caves and hot springs to the north. He smells a herd of snow-deer upwind, and other night creatures burrowing through the forest floor. Quick and careful creatures. Not quick and careful enough, if Ned gives chase.

His stomach is full, but he’s hungry still. He could hunt, bloody his fangs, stretch his legs and sing with the moon. Or… 

Heat flares through his lungs as another scent catches his attention. He remembers his new pet. The little catboy has already been hunted and captured, so there will be no thrill of the chase—but he can satisfy another urge instead.

Ned growls and turns back towards the cabin.

His shoulder knocks into the door, and he hears a wooden crack. The cabin feels smaller around his larger form, close and claustrophobic. A predator’s den. The whole room reeks with overwhelming fear, sharp and sweet. Ned’s body responds instinctively, his cock hardening. He prowls forward, knocking a chair aside. The heavy clatter almost drowns out the terrified gasp from the floor.

The catboy scrambles back as far as the chain around his ankle allows—not far. His eyes are wide as saucers, dark and terrified. His pale, thin limbs seem to glow in the firelight, set starkly against the dark fur of the direbear rug. He smells like sex, like fear. He smells like Ned.

Sasha. Ned remembers the name as a distant fact, far less important than the catboy’s whimpers, the handprint bruises up and down his body. The palpable fact of possession. The boy is prey. His name doesn’t matter.

Ned crouches over the his prey’s body. He doesn’t have to move quickly, not when the catboy’s already pinned and ready for the taking. His prey squirms, kicks. Ned barely feels the blows, not even when desperate hands scratch at his chest and neck. 

Ned pins his wrists to the floor. The thin arms wrench helplessly beneath his massive, furred hands. He flexes his claws, and his prey whimpers. The sound goes right to Ned’s cock; he growls in desire, which only makes his prey whimper again. Ned ruts against him; the catboy’s legs are all twisted up beneath him, and Ned’s cock slides hot and heavy over his hip. 

The whimpers take shape, forming words. Short, scared words, repeated over and over. Lost in the moon’s grasp, Ned can’t understand them. He doesn’t care. He snarls, tongue lolling out over his jagged teeth. Lets go of his prey’s arms in order to yank his flailing legs into position around Ned’s hips. Spreads him wide.

The catboy hits him, fists battering uselessly at his shoulders. The fire’s glow flickers along the struggling limbs. Ned ruts forward again. His cock slides against his prey’s belly, against the soft little cock. Ned’s slick with precome already. Every helpless contortion just brings them closer together, exciting him more and more. He rocks against his prey, and he could come just from rubbing his cock against the writhing form.

But even in his animal bloodlust, he remembers the little catboy’s tight heat. He wants to fully claim his whimpering prey.

He can’t push in at first. His cock shoves forcefully against his prey’s tight hole, but slides away in his own precome. He’s too aroused, overcome with instinct, clumsy and frantic. He forces himself to slow down. Shoves the thin legs higher up. One leg won’t move, and the catboy yelps in pain when Ned tries yanking it up.

Through the wolf haze, Ned remembers the chain.

He snarls, rears back, and rips it out from the floor in a crack of breaking wood. When he shoves again, his prey bends nearly in half—not willingly, but pliably. And on his next thrust, the head of his cock catches on his prey’s rim.

He grunts and pushes forward, eased by his precome and the last traces of oil from their earlier fucks. It’s not as wet as he usually slicks up his toy, and it’s not as slow. Ned’s too far gone for careful pampering.

The little catboy whimpers deliciously as he thrusts in. Tight heat surrounds his cock, tense, resisting. Every clench just makes him harder. Fuck, it feels good. Pleasure burns through him, near as strong a call as the cold song of the moon. Ned breathes in the terror and growls out his own lust. He hunches over, burying his long snout in the catboy’s neck. Growls again, and _feels_ that thin throat jumping against his jaw.

He rocks forward and sheathes his cock fully inside his quivering prey. Not for long—he’s out again a second later. Then in again. Out. Ned fucks his little catboy in long, quick strokes. Chasing a primal drive, spurred faster and faster by his prey’s broken gasps. Difficult as it was to force his way inside, the fuck’s so easy once he’s in. His little pet is completely unable to resist him.

The room’s warm. Firelit, blood-driven, a haze of heat and the smell of sweat and fur. He licks his prey’s neck, tasting his sweet skin, feeling the heat of his pulse just under the surface. He doesn’t bite, just lets his teeth graze tender flesh.

Ned’s close. He can’t talk in this shape, not with his teeth changed, his throat twisted. He wouldn’t warn his prey even if he could, though. He wants that moment of surprise.

He ruts in harder. Shoves all the way in and grinds, and nothing changes from one moment to the next, except suddenly the primal rush is too much to resist. Blood surges to his cock. The base begins to swell against his toy’s rim.

His prey goes rigid when he feels it. Ned pushes back up so he can see the expression on his face. The wet parted lips, the wide eyes, the confusion giving way to terrified understanding.

Ned’s head clears enough that he can understand the catboy’s next words: “Please, pull out! It’s too much already, _please_.”

Fuck, the little catboy has no idea what a tease he is. Ned almost comes right there. Any protests are in vain; no force on this world could keep Ned from pushing forward.

His knot is barely swollen when he forces it in, one brutal thrust past the clenching rim. His prey makes this delicious choking sound, as if he’s too overwhelmed and violated to scream. He keeps pleading, like he doesn’t know how hot he is begging, how sweet his desperation sounds in Ned’s ears. How his cries for mercy only fuel Ned’s lust.

Fully seated, Ned’s cock keeps swelling inside his prey’s ass. His entire cock feels more sensitive the more his knot hardens and grows. It feels fucking amazing, the sweet pressure along his nerves getting better and better the bigger he gets. He keeps moving, in jerky shallow ruts that are the only movements he can make, moving less and less as the knot grows and pins him in place. 

At last they’re fully tied. Ned can’t move any more, just grinds his knot in, shuddering, and starts to come. His orgasm punches through him with brutal, animal force. An all-consuming transformation of his nerves, until he has no thought left in his body beyond claiming his prey. Snarling, he releases into his helpless prey. The catboy whimpers with every hot pump, as if he feels every stream of come. As if it hurts.

Ned doesn’t care, not even enough to enjoy the catboy’s distress. He’s too mindlessly dazed with the pleasure of release.

Long moments later, he begins to regain his senses. Smells the woodsmoke and fear-sweat and come. Tastes the salt-sweet skin under his tongue. Feels the small, trembling body beneath him, softer than the fur rug they’re entangled on. The hot, tight ass still clenching pathetically on his knot.

Ned rumbles his satisfaction and laps at the catboy’s pulse. He rolls onto his side, then his back, forcibly dragging along his unwilling cockwarmer. The catboy doesn’t even struggle, just collapses on his chest.

Ned rolls his hips lazily, making the catboy hiss and jerk reflexively. He strokes his claws almost gently along narrow flanks, delicate ribs. He should move them to the bed, where they can properly nest. But the fire is warm, and he feels so comfortable and sated.

He falls asleep on the rug, with the moon singing in his blood, and his little pet snug on his cock.

****

It’s still night, and the full moon still holds sway when Ned next wakes. His body aches, but his head is clearer. The lingering scent of a satisfying conquest keep him calm and sleepy for a moment, like stretching out under a warm blanket.

Then he realizes he’s alone on the rug. 

He snarls and leaps to his feet. He can tell in a single instant that the only sounds in the cabin are the crackling fire and the whisper of wind from the open door. Ned remembers breaking it when the moon first took him, and snarls again.

The catboy’s—Sasha’s—boots are gone, as well as Ned’s big coat. He finds the chain laid out near the door, the ankle cuff picked open.

Fuck.

Ned lumbers out of the cabin and onto his narrow porch. From the moon’s position, he has two candlemarks till dawn. He sees the tracks immediately, a clear, stumbling line through the snow and south. Sasha’s making for nearby Dharovan, and he has a good guess on the direction. Depending on how long ago he left, he has a chance of making it.

Ned inhales, securing the scent in case the footprints run out. The wind’s picking up, but Sasha’s wearing Ned’s coat, and that’ll help him track. With his prey’s scent firmly fixed in his lungs, he surges forward into the night.

He’s still in monstrous half-wolf form, and he crouches to run on all fours. He hurtles through the forest. Branches crack, too loud in the quiet night. He knows this forest, knows how to move silently through it even at his most monstrous, but stealth is too slow. He needs to catch his prey before it reaches the safety of civilization.

The trail gets harder to follow the further he goes. As the trees thicken, there’s less snow to hold tracks. The wind quickens, snatching the scent from his jaws before he can latch onto it.

A candlemark into his hunt, as the black sky begins to gray above him, he loses the trail completely.

He skids to a halt in the middle of a clearing, rising to his hind legs to cast around. The knee-deep snow around him is pristine, unmarred save for his own lumbering path. The wind is too capricious; he can’t catch any scent beyond the heady pines and the clean scent of winter itself.

If it was still the very deep of night, he might have given up there. But the moon is setting, and Ned can think enough like a person to work it out. If there’s no trail ahead of him, his prey must be hidden behind him. He turns, seeking, listening as hard as he can through the wind and the rustling trees, until the wind shifts just the right way and a gust of scent washes over him. The familiar scent of his little kitten, so close he can taste him.

Ned prowls after the scent. It leads him to a huge fallen tree at the edge of the clearing. The log’s covered in snow, and it’s been down for months. Long enough for the branches of the trees next to it to start growing over it again.

He doesn’t bother sneaking up. He snarls, jumps onto the log with a sharp wooden crunch, and finds his prey.

Sasha doesn’t even look up at the sound, just curls closer in on himself. He’s wedged mostly under the log, between it and another tree trunk, looking lost in Ned’s big winter coat. Ned can barely see any of him, just the tip of his fluffy white tail poking out. 

Ned seizes him by the shoulder and drags him up and over the log. In an instant, he has Sasha on his back, pinned to the log with a broad, clawed hand over his neck. 

The hood of the coat falls back from Sasha’s pretty head. He scrabbles weakly at Ned’s hand, then falls limp. He’s fully dressed for the first time in days—he must have managed to find the rest of his clothes in Ned’s bedroom before getting out. In the last rays of moonlight and the faint gray light of impending dawn, he looks even paler than usual.

Ned smells the sweat and exhaustion on him. 

Sasha opens his mouth as if it say something. Then he just tightens his jaw, and closes his eyes.

The moon is setting. Its call is weak enough that Ned could shift back to human now, if he wanted to talk. But he has nothing to say either. Sasha tried to escape, and failed. There’s a price for failure, and Ned doesn’t need words to claim it.

He pulls Sasha out of his coat and forcefully shoves him over, belly-down on the snow-covered log. Sasha doesn’t even fight, just clings to the rough bark, as Ned claws open his trousers. The fabric splits from his hip across the backside, baring his pale ass and the base of his tail. Ned shreds more of the fabric away, splitting seams, making more room to crowd between those skinny white legs. He ruts against the his bare, shivering prey, rubbing his thick cock over spare curves, against the exquisite softness of his tail.

The night is frigid cold, even through Ned’s thick pelt of wolf fur. His breath gusts in white clouds. But inside, he’s hot as a furnace. His lust and hunger drive him forward, and his cock slides under the trembling tail, over the Sasha’s tender, overused hole.

Ned’s wet already, leaking precome, and Sasha stays so perfectly still that sliding in is the easiest it’s ever been. Sasha’s still tight as a vise around his cock, his tense, skinny body resisting him at every inch. But he’s still slick with Ned’s come from earlier that night. He doesn’t even struggle, like he really is just a hole for Ned to fuck.

Such a good boy. But good behavior now doesn’t change how very bad he’s been. Ned snarls and pounds into him, letting out the rage and adrenaline of the hunt. He pours all his boiled-up instincts into the catboy’s helpless body, and the lack of resistance only drives him to greater ferocity. He fucks him so hard, his muscles burn with the effort. He pants like he’s still running, clouds of hot air rolling away from his open jaws. 

The tight hole feels incredible on his cock. The wet slide, the slap of skin on skin, the edge of friction as he drives in too hard—

He’s so worked up, he doesn’t take long to reach his peak. He feels his knot swelling, and a small part of him says it might make more sense to avoid knotting Sasha out in the middle of the frozen woods.

He ignores that idea, and shoves all the way in. The force of the knot is enough to make Sasha twitch, the first sign of struggle since Ned threw him over the log. Ned shudders against him, pleasure exploding through his body. His clawed splinter the frozen wood as his cock swells, locking him into his helpless pet.

The tiniest whimper sends him over the edge; he comes with a snarl, pouring his seed into his limp little toy.

The explosive pleasure clears from his body, and his instinctive rage clears from his mind. Panting, he becomes again aware of the cold wind in his fur, the splintered wood under his claws. The faint gray of dawn slowly filters through the sky.

His cock twitches, still hard, his thick knot plugging the little catboy up tight. He pulls back slightly, and Sasha’s limp body moves with him.

Fuck, that’s hot. He wants to say it out loud, but he can’t with his teeth like this. Instead he bends closer, nosing along Sasha’s back. Between his shoulderblades. Presses his long snout against his neck and under his hair and inhales the sharp fear scent. He exhales, hot against Sasha’s ear, and delights in the subtle shiver. 

Gently, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to feel, he closes his teeth around Sasha’s neck. Sasha goes tense, clenching even harder around Ned’s cock. Such delicate skin, such fragile bones. How brave, how stupid, that this little thing thought he could escape Ned’s grasp.

Ned releases his neck, and runs his long, wet tongue up the tender skin. 

The morning lightens. Gradually, Ned’s knot goes down enough that he can pull out. He withdraws in a river of come, pouring down Sasha’s thighs until his little hole clenches up again, tight as ever. 

Ned staggers back, bends over, and changes.

In daylight, with the moon set, he has some control over the shift again. He stops in a partially-shifted state—his hands are still clawed, his feet still tough and his legs still furred against the snow. His teeth are still jagged, but his jaw recedes enough to allow human speech. He stretches his limbs, readjusting to the in-between shape, then glances over at his little fucktoy. 

Sasha’s slumped down on this side of the log, curled in on himself. His ass is completely bare, his trousers hanging in tatters around his knees. His tail curls up around him, off the snowy ground. His too-thin coat is torn at the back, at the shoulders. His ears pin back in his tangled hair, and his head ducks down too far for Ned to see his face.

His shoulders shake. He’s shivering.

Ned exhales, again noting the plume of white fog from his breath. Huh. It’s pretty cold, and little Sasha doesn’t have a werewolf’s resistance to the elements. He’s too skinny to be out in the cold like this. An uncharacteristic worry flickers through Ned’s thoughts—what if his new toy freezes to death before he’s finished playing with him?

Better get him back to the cabin and warm him up.

Ned picks up his stolen greatcoat, shakes off the snow, and pulls it on. It’s a little chilly out here even when he’s half-shifted. Then he bends over and runs a gentle hand under Sasha’s chin. Lifts his face up so he can look at him.

“You’ve been real stupid, kitten,” he drawls. “You’re lucky I bothered coming after you.”

Sasha’s face is even paler than usual, his lips blue with cold. He looks like a snow spirit, translucent, delicate, helpless. A dusting of snow glitters in his tangled white hair. He glares daggers up at Ned. “I’m f-fine,” he says, teeth chattering. “J-just leave me h-here.”

Ned laughs, pats his head. “_Real_ stupid.” In one smooth motion, he scoops the half-frozen catboy up into his arms. It’s easy. Sasha’s too exhausted to struggle. “I’m doing this for your own good, all right? You should be thanking me.”

Only his keen wolf’s ears let him pick up Sasha’s answer, whispered against his chest: “Fuck off.”

Ned just laughs again, and bundles him closer ot his body. Then he sets off back for the cabin, his prey in his arms.

****

He dumps Sasha in front of the fireplace. The rug still smells like both of them, but Sasha doesn’t seem to mind the reek of sex. He just huddles there, not moving from where Ned dropped him.

Ned hangs up his coat and goes back outside. He shakes himself off like a dog, snow flying off his hairy limbs, and then he closes his eyes and calls the wolf back inside. It’s a slow change. His inner wolf is still alert to the prey animal trembling and helpless in his lair. He feels the full moon beyond the horizon.

But it’s day, and the moon is set. The wolf obeys, for now, and Ned shifts back to his fully human form. Fur recedes, baring tanned, scarred skin. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. It’s always a strange ache, after the full moon. A satisfying exhaustion, tiring yet somehow invigorating. And it’s even better when he has an outlet for all that wild energy.

Yeah. That was a good night. But now it’s time for some cleanup.

Ned pads back into the cabin. The door shuts behind him but doesn’t lock. Right. He really made a mess of things last night. He’ll have to fix the latch later today. 

First, he throws a couple more logs on the fire, which had burnt down nearly to ashes. Then he grabs a bottle of ointment and a big, soft quilt from his bedroom and drops them on his armchair.

He looks down at Sasha. He looks so pretty like that, all curled up, with just flashes of pale skin showing through the rips in his clothing. 

“All right, kitten, on your feet.” When Sasha doesn’t move, he repeats himself with a growl. “You heard me!”

Sasha flinches at the snarl, the small animal part of him responding to the wolf’s command. He even tries to obey. He half-sits, braced on thin trembling arms. But that’s as far as he gets. His legs don’t seem to work. 

“I have to do everything around here, huh?” he says, hoisting Sasha up by the arm. Sasha gasps and sways, unable to keep his footing. Ned lets go of his arm, just to see what happens—to his delight, Sasha falls against him. His head doesn’t even come to Ned’s shoulders; his forehead presses against Ned’s chest, and his feather-light body presses fully against him. He would slide back to the floor if Ned didn’t instinctively grab him by the waist.

The little catboy still feels dangerously cold under his hands. Ned sighs, and starts undressing him. He isn’t careful about it, ripping seams and tearing fabric. The trousers are ruined already, and the coat and shirt aren’t much better—soaked through, dirty, torn through by grasping branches and the scrape of the rough log Ned threw him over.

A button pops off and bounces onto the floorboards. Sasha hisses, and struggles weakly. “S-stop, let me…”

Fucking adorable. Even half-frozen and barely conscious, he’s still got some fight in him. Ned ruffles his hair, his earlier annoyance well and truly gone. “You’re freezing, kitten,” he says soothingly. “I need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha protests, but he’s still stuttering through blue lips, and his eyes are half-shut. He’s unable to fight back any more. When Ned kneels down to pull his boots off, Sasha clutches his shoulders for balance. The fragile, desperate grasp stirs Ned’s desire, and he can feel his cock filling. He likes how helpless and dependent Sasha is now. How much Sasha needs him right now, even as he hates him.

He pauses to just look at Sasha once he finishes undressing him. The clear morning light perfectly illuminates his fragile figure. He looks even thinner like this, trembling, his nose pink and his fingers nearly blue. He has shallow scratches all over, especially his chest and belly, from Ned bending him over the rough log. There are handprint bruises on his waist, his hips, around his neck—the blue and purple like paint against his delicate white skin. The bruises under his eyes are just from exhaustion, but Ned likes them just as well. 

He wraps one hand around Sasha’s upper arm. His fingertips overlap with his thumb, and he likes that too. He’ll have to remember not to feed the boy too much.

The heat of the fire isn’t enough. His little pet’s still shaking like a leaf. Ned tugs him over to his armchair and wraps the quilt around him. The soft quilt is so thick and heavy, Sasha staggers with the weight of it, until Ned scoops him up and sits down with him in the armchair. 

Sasha just melts into his lap. Curled up, his face buried in the quilt. He’s still so cold, in the places where his bare skin meets Ned’s. Ned adjusts the blanket around them, pulling it out from between them, until Sasha’s limp body rests directly against his bare skin. Sasha squirms, and Ned wraps an arm around him to keep him in place—but Sasha isn’t trying to escape. He’s wriggling closer, pressing his face into Ned’s chest, tucking his ice-cold feet against Ned’s thigh. He doesn’t seem to notice Ned’s cock half-hard against his hip. If he does, he doesn’t care. 

“That’s a good pet,” Ned says, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. “You know running away’s a dumb idea. See how nice I am?”

Sasha shudders and mumbles, “I hate you.”

But he huddles closer all the same.

They rest by the fire as the morning brightens and the cabin heats up. Ned rubs gentle circles through the quilt, darkly amused that Sasha doesn’t flinch at his touch like usual. The little catboy can’t handle the cold—Ned files that information away for later use. Maybe if his pet is particularly naughty, he can chain him outside for a few candlemarks, then bring him back in for apologies. But that’s a game for another day.

Eventually, he realizes Sasha’s breathing has deepened and slowed. His shivering has stopped. He’s fallen asleep in Ned’s lap.

Ned’s hand wanders to Sasha’s head, stroking gently through the tangled hair. He picks out a stray leaf and continues petting gently, until he touches the base of Sasha’s ear. Sasha makes a tiny sound, but doesn’t flinch away. Ned keeps petting. Sasha’s ears are impossibly soft, the hair impossibly fine. They twitch under his blunt fingers. 

He’s still asleep, pliant and responsive under Ned’s touch. He’s such a perfect little toy, so tiny and helpless against Ned’s strength. And that rebellious spirit—fuck, he’s going to be fun to break.

Ned’s never kept a pet around for long before. He’s used to life on the road, where it’s not really practical to drag unwilling companions along on the job. Sure, he had the occasional week free at his room in Wintercrest, or Old Samrell’s place in Redvale, and time enough to have guests over, willing or no. Certainly time enough to accumulate his collection of unusual tools and implements. But usually, he sated his urges in brothels and backroads.

Now that he’s retired, it might be nice to keep his kitten around for longer. Train him up properly. Get full use out of him, at least until he gets bored.

Ned grins, running his fingers along Sasha’s thin neck. He should get a collar for him. Plain leather, maybe, or enchanted iron? Perhaps jewels. Something pretty for his little pet.

He runs his palm down Sasha’s back, under the quilt. The little catboy’s warming up quickly with the heat of Ned’s body, but perhaps some extra friction wouldn’t go amiss. Either way, Ned likes him unconscious like this. He pets lower, squeezing Sasha’s bony ass, and then his fingers press into his cleft.

Yeah, he really likes this. His personal fucktoy, exhausted, unconscious but responsive—Ned’s own body responds as he pets and prods. His cock hardens against Sasha’s hip.

He has to search around a bit before he finds the bottle of ointment lost in the quilt. He meant to treat Sasha’s scratches with it—really—but that can wait. His lust is more important than Sasha’s wellbeing, after all. 

He shifts Sasha around carefully, until the little catboy’s in his lap facing him, his skinny legs stretched out to straddle Ned’s thick thighs. Still safely encased in the warm quilt, of course. Ned savors the feel of the slim torso against his, and the tiny soft cock against his own massive length. Sasha makes a small sound as he settles into place, but stays asleep. Ned wonders just how far he can get before waking him up. 

Time to find out. He slicks up his fingers with the ointment and reaches under Sasha’s tail. His hole is warm to the touch, the flesh swollen and tender with overuse. Ned rubs the rim lazily, slowly, taking his time. He’s had his chase for the night, and any urgency has fled with the rising sun. This is just a relaxing way to spend his morning. 

Sasha’s breath shifts, and his tail flicks under the quilt, against Ned’s thigh. But he’s so deep asleep, he doesn’t wake up quite yet. Ned’s fingertip pushes into the taut ring, and Sasha moans breathily at that.

The hint of heat is tempting, and Ned decides a nice, lazy fingering will be too much work this morning. He doesn’t even want a real fuck—he’s tired too, after all that running around. He just wants to make use of his little cockwarmer.

He removes his hand, shuffles around, and slicks up his cock. The ointment’s cool, but warms rapidly against his skin—not magic, just a cheap herbal blend. He hardens even more under his own touch, at the knowledge that his hard, heavy cock is about to sheathe once again inside the helpless toy in his lap. He’s never exactly been modest about his size. But the heft of his cock is even more satisfying compared to the tight, swollen hole he’s about to split open.

He lifts Sasha up with one hand under his skinny ass, and uses the other to guide his cock into position. He has to work a fingertip into Sasha’s hole to open him up enough before lowering him down. 

His cockhead barely breaches the tight rim when little Sasha wakes up. He gasps prettily against Ned’s neck, and he claws instinctively against Ned’s chest. But he’s too sluggish and drained and confused to struggle, and Ned has no trouble pulling him down onto his slicked-up cock. He just gets to enjoy the now-familiar heat and pathetic clenching, as Sasha’s body tries in vain to push him out. 

“Morning, kitten,” Ned says cheerfully. “Don’t mind me, you can go back to sleep.”

He strokes Sasha’s back soothingly under the quilt, feeling him trembling with the force of the intrusion. Ned isn’t even thrusting up, but the sheer size of his cock is still too much for the little catboy.

He pats Sasha’s bony ass, enjoying the hiss of discomfort as the movement jostles him on his cock. “I know you can take this just fine. You felt perfect on my knot last night, and that was way bigger than this.”

Sasha whines, then mumbles something against Ned’s chest.

He grabs Sasha by the hair and pulls him back. “What was that?”

Sasha still looks tired, his ears pinned back miserably, but the color’s come back to his lips, and that pretty blush across his cheeks. He says shakily, “How close did I get to town?”

Ned has to think about it for a moment. His memory’s blurred by the moon and his wolf’s bloodlust. Then he laughs, and lets go of his hair. Hugs him close and rough under the quilt. Yeah, he’s not getting tired of Sasha any time soon. The little bastard had almost made it to Dharovan. He was just half a mile from the nearest homestead. If he’d screamed loud enough, someone would have heard him.

Sasha doesn’t need to know that, though.

Ned answers, “Nowhere close. You went in the wrong direction.”

“Oh.” Sasha’s shoulders slump. 

Ned squeezes his ass roughly, kneading into the thin flesh with both hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock you up better tonight. Now get some sleep, kitten.”

He lounges back in his armchair, surrounded by the scent of home and a well-fucked catboy. For some reason, Sasha doesn’t go back to sleep. He stays awake, tense and tight, occasionally whimpering when Ned shifts in the chair.

That’s too bad—sleep would do him good, and he’ll need his strength. There are still two more nights of the full moon, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I can't get enough of this pair, hehe.
> 
> And I'm open to ideas on future kinks and games for Ned to try out on Sasha! No promises I'll get to it -- I have some ideas of my own I'm dying to write -- but Ned's an adventurous soul ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Catboy in Sunbeam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731060) by [ba_lailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/pseuds/ba_lailah)


End file.
